


Go Down Together

by PoisonRose



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pre-Slash, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-01-16 23:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonRose/pseuds/PoisonRose
Summary: Jeremy’s new, Michael’s at the end of his rope, Gavin’s in trouble, and Ryan’s reputation is falling apart. This job is make it or break it, but only one thing’s for certain: they’re going to have to trust each other in order to pull it off.Inspired by Criminal Masterminds





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Criminal Masterminds was an incredible series. This is my tribute to it. Let's see how this goes.

Los Santos, for all her glamor, is a cruel mistress. She gives and takes away with no mercy. You either find a way to thrive, or you find yourself in an alley, bleeding sluggishly from various wounds, beaten to hell with blurry vision and no money in your pocket. Ryan leans against the brick wall, cradling his left arm and trying to get the fuzz clouding his mind to go away. 

It was supposed to be an easy job, a quick money grab with a low level crew. He just wanted to get his cut and head off scott-free. Instead, the lowlifes he was working with turned on him after they had lost the cops, one getting a good blow to the back of his head when his guard was down, leaving him hopelessly hazy as the rest of the group proceeded to kick the shit out of him. Ryan’s a good fighter, but one unprepared man against six healthy ones doesn’t really stand a chance, regardless of prowess. He got one or two good punches in, but for the most part, it was just a beat down.

The thing is, Ryan should have expected it. For the past few years, he’s been building up a reputation: the cold mercenary known as the Vagabond who can complete any job for the right amount of cash. Ruthless and efficient, the Vagabond became known as a man you didn’t want to cross, faceless and silent, leaving even the crew leaders he took jobs for quaking in their boots. 

Or at least he did.

Reputation takes a long time to build up, but only seconds to break, as Ryan discovered about a month ago. It was a normal intimidation job; stand behind the front man and look as menacing as possible, maybe say a few things that promise death and pain if the other group starts acting up. The negotiations weren't going well, so Ryan stepped forward to make some thinly veiled threats. And then he flubbed, the words coming out wrong, absolutely decimating the image he was supposed to be projecting. The job fell apart from there, ending with his employers dead and Ryan just barely escaping, a trip on the way out just the final nail in the coffin of the illusion of the unstoppable Vagabond.

News travels faster than light in Los Santos, so Ryan should have expected the group he was working with to have heard that the big, scary Vagabond was really not. But he was complacent, used to the fear that came with his mask, and so the betrayal came out of nowhere. Which leaves him here, alone in an alley, low on funds after two failed jobs, choking on his own blood. It's unfortunate, Ryan contemplates, that he's lost everything he's gained in one fell swoop. What he really needs, he thinks as he begins the slow process of levering himself up, is some grand gesture to make people forget about that miserable job and view him again with fear. Some sort of heist or assassination that the city can't ignore. Unfortunately, something like that is incredibly difficult to pull off on your own, and who would be willing to work with him in this state?

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And don't you fucking come back!"

This parting shot comes as Jeremy tries to regain his breath after being forcibly shoved out the door, having hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Anger surges through him, hot and uncontrollable, that famous Boston temper leaving his eyes glowing and his hands shaking. But there's nothing he can do without ending up dead or worse. So Jeremy just heaves himself to his feet, flipping off the clubhouse as he storms away.

It's the fifth time this month something like this has happened, some shitheads acting all high and mighty like Jeremy is someone to be kicked around. It's the fifth time this month he's taken a job only to not get his cut, because all gangs see when they look at him is a short kid out of his depth. And maybe he is. Los Santos is unrelenting and there are only two ways to get respect: join a gang or pull off a job. But the second option is nearly impossible to do on your own. So Jeremy's stuck trying to suck up to the street gangs, the groups that fight for the scraps of the city, not important enough to get the attention of crews like the Roosters. It's infuriating, but Jeremy has no other way to try and climb the hierarchy in this town. 

He left Boston with a crappy pistol and the hope of making it big as a criminal in the West. But the reality is that there is no room for some out-of-town nobody in a place where you can throw a stone and hit a lawbreaker or gang-member. So Jeremy takes the jobs that no one else wants and then gets fuck all when the group he's working for takes advantage of him just because they can. He can't go back to Boston, but this city is draining him dry.

As he stalks back to his shitty hideaway for the night, Jeremy thinks about how he would show them all, would fucking crush these tiny gangs who lord power over anyone they can to hide their own inadequacies, if only he could pull a heist that could get the attention of the real players in this city, one that would put his name on the map for good.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gavin's heart is pounding so loud, he's surprised that the man in front of him isn't getting annoyed. He's still talking, but all Gavin hears is a buzz, the words having faded in his panic after the words “ten million dollars.” He is so fucked.

Gavin came to Los Santos in the hopes of finding a challenge. In England, hacking was easy as breathing, both the corrupt and the innocent with security systems that were child's play. Dan had been his muscle, the intimidation and protection for his operation, but as he saw Gavin get more and more antsy, he finally stepped in and told him to leave, get out of town to because he clearly didn't belong in London. So Gavin had set his eyes on the most crime ridden town he could think of: Los Santos. The hope was that a place crawling with criminals would be more difficult to steal in, but at first, Gavin was incredibly disappointed.

Just like England, the security was dishearteningly easy to crack, leaving him with thousands at the tips of his fingers. He stole from group after group, politicians to preachers to gangs. And then he set his eyes on Mitchell Moore, the known leader of a decently sized gang. He hacked in and rerouted the accounts to his own, and nothing went wrong at first. Until he came home to his apartment one day to find enforcers in his living room. It turns out Moore wasn't pleased with having been stolen from.

Which leaves Gavin where he is now, having just heard his death warrant signed. You see, Moore wants the money Gavin took back, plus interest, a total sum of ten mil, and Gavin has one month to deliver or face the consequences. The problem is, Gavin already spent most of the money on a gold gun and some new threads. To make things worse, in all his time as a hacker, he never stole what amounted to ten million dollars.

As Gavin sits there in terror, he realizes the only way to get that kind of money in that time frame is to pull a heist, and a big one at that. But Gavin's on his own, with Dan out of contact on an undercover job, and something that lucrative requires a crew, something he just doesn't have.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Michael wipes the blood from his face, disgust and anger simmering just under his skin. Brad walks past and gives him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Nice job out there today, man! Her face was priceless! Anyway, see you tomorrow!" He heads off, unaware of just how lucky he is Michael's internal battle with his emotions has left him motionless. Otherwise, he might just have lost some teeth. Or something more vital. Michael's not exactly known for his subtlety.

In fact, he thrives on chaos, on explosions and gunfire and a good old fashioned brawl, fists on skin. When he first joined the Haymakers, fresh from Jersey, aching for action, that's exactly what he got. It was all demolition and one-on-one fights in their underground ring, jobs that, while not the most glamorous, still made his blood sing. He felt lucky. That's what he can't get over. He had felt goddamn lucky that he had been accepted into a crew so quickly, that he had found a place in the notorious Los Santos.

But slowly, he started to notice things. How other gangs avoided them, how they had no allies, how the people they brought back to base didn't have any information they needed, how the smiles of the others were slightly...off, their eyes disturbingly blank in situations where anyone else would freak out. And Michael's dumb, he knows that, but he eventually made the connection. The Haymakers aren't a gang; they're a cult, one that tortures civilians and uses their own members as fodder.

And now Michael's stuck. Because the Haymakers aren't the type to just let people go. They're more the type to send someone to slit your throat if you try to leave. As Michael stares at the mangled mess of what was once a young woman with a future, nausea rising in him, he tries to think of a way out, because he's going to snap and get himself killed if he has to do one more "interrogation session." What he really needs, he thinks, is protection. If he can get in with powerful enough players, he can leave without having to worry about the Haymakers' retaliation.

But to get that kind of support, he needs to separate himself from this gang that's ostracized even by the psychos of Los Santos. He needs to pull a big job with other people, without the Haymakers catching wind of it before he's on his way out, but he has no idea how to find someone stupid or desperate enough to help him out.


	2. Stupid or Desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me make you an offer you can't refuse.

When Ryan wakes up the next morning, he immediately wishes he hadn't. Everything hurts, from his gums to his soles, aches and throbs in equal measure. It’s going to be a long day. He drags himself out of bed, shoving his left arm into the makeshift sling he made yesterday and limping his way into the kitchen. 

One diet coke and some eggs later, Ryan finds himself standing in front of his closet, staring down his usual get up of a black leather jacket and skull mask. Shoving those to the side, he instead picks out a t-shirt and an old, comfortable pair of jeans. Today, he isn’t the Vagabond. Today, he’s just regular old Ryan Haywood.

And what regular old Ryan Haywood needs to do is go shopping. After throwing on a sweatshirt, he heads out the door.

As Ryan walks down the sidewalk, his mind drifts to what he’s been trying to avoid thinking about: his precarious position in the criminal world.

God, he’s so screwed. _Come on Haywood, you’ve thought your way out of worse situations. What if…no, too risky. That defies the laws of physics, though it would be fun. Okay, now I’m just getting rid-_

“FUCK YOU, TOO! See if I need your fucking money! All I need is this, you whores!” 

Ryan’s thoughts are cut off by the slightly slurred yelling emanating from the side street to his right. He takes a look in that direction, and the scene revealed is a strange spectacle indeed.

A rather short man clutching what looks like a bottle of alcohol is yelling at a closed door next to a florist. He’s swaying, and by all first appearances is quite intoxicated, but the longer Ryan looks, the more he sees. The man’s clothes are torn and covered in dirt, and he’s bleeding rather alarmingly from a wound on the side of his head. Normally, Ryan wouldn’t bother with the rambling lamentations of a drunk, but it’s becoming more clear by the second that the man’s woozy movements and slurred words are more likely from head trauma and blood loss than alcohol. 

Everybody else is ignoring the man, following the unspoken rule in this part of the city to not get involved in anything out of the ordinary, but Ryan’s always had too much curiosity for his own good.

“Hey,” Ryan calls out as he starts jogging towards him, “what’s going on here?”

The man turns towards him unsteadily, tilting dangerously to the left before righting himself.

“Who the ffffuck are youuu…” The last word trails off into nothing as the man’s eyes flutter and his body begins falling forward. Ryan rushes ahead and is able to catch him before he hits the ground.

“Unff…” The sudden impact jars his injured arm, sending a spike of pain through Ryan’s body. Ryan tilts the man’s head back carefully. Out cold. 

After tying his sling around the man’s head to deal with the worst of bleeding, Ryan contemplates his next move. This guy may be short, but he’s compact, with a wide, strong frame. It takes some maneuvering and some sacrifices on the part of his damaged arm, but Ryan is eventually able to get the man up and over his right shoulder. His body still kind of complains at the strain, but it’s much more tolerable than before.

Ryan sighs and starts the trek back to his apartment.

And all he wanted to do was get some milk.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jeremy wakes up to a drum line that can’t keep a beat having an enthusiastic concert in his head. He groans and tries to turn on his side, only to be stopped by a sharp stab of pain across his chest. What did he _do_ last night?

He stares up at the pale blue ceiling, trying to remember. There was a job, that he knows for sure. After successfully robbing a convenience store, they had all headed back to the gang’s base with the plan to get hammered, something Jeremy was heartily in favor of. That could explain the headache, but Jeremy only remembers having one shot before things get hazy. There was something about money, he thinks, flashes of a fight, and fucking hell, did he not get paid _again?_

Jeremy groans again, this time in exasperated frustration, grasping at the comforter covering him. 

Wait a second... _comforter?_ Jeremy hasn’t been able to afford more than a few ratty sheets since before he left Boston, what the fuck is going on? He drags himself into a sitting position, ignoring the way his body aches, and takes in his surroundings for the first time.

The room he’s in is a fairly large bedroom, with a few houseplants near the currently shaded windows. There’s nothing that particularly stands out about it, except for, you know, the fact that it isn’t _Jeremy’s._

On the table next to him, a bottle of aspirin sits next to some water and...huh. That’s his pistol, shitty quality, scratched-up barrel and all, and his wallet next to that. Well, at least he knows he wasn’t robbed.

Ignoring the pills, because even he’s not that much a moron, Jeremy makes his way out of bed and takes stock of his body. He’s in a pair of lounge pants that are far too long, but his boxers are still on which is a good sign. His chest is bare, and there are several bandages wrapped around it, along with one around his head that he notices when he goes to run his hand over his scalp. Aside from the aches and pains, he seems relatively unharmed, having gotten some sort of medical attention while he was out.

Jeremy huffs out a breath and looks up to see his clothes neatly folded on a chair next to the dresser. This is too fucking weird. It’s like he’s in the opening of a horror game, where things are creepily calm right before it all goes to hell. Any minute now, someone is going to come through that door and start spouting off about “the Lord” and how he’s part of the family or some shit.

Pulling on his own clothes as fast as he can without injuring himself further, Jeremy mentally prepares to head out into the rest of the building. He shoves his wallet into his pocket and stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans before standing uncertainly in front of the door. _Ah, fuck it._

The door opens easily under his touch, so Jeremy’s quiet fear of being locked in was unwarranted. He’s in a rather small hallway of what looks like an apartment judging from the cramped layout. For the first time, Jeremy actually hears evidence of another person, noises of someone bustling in a kitchen coming from his left. Touching his gun briefly, Jeremy takes a deep breath and walks towards the source of the sound.

He emerges in a living room only separated from the kitchen by a counter to his right. And standing in that kitchen, facing away from him, is a man with long, dark blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Jeremy freezes.

The man turns towards him leisurely, a bowl of cereal in his hands, and leans back against the counter. He regards Jeremy casually, chewing slowly and looking him up and down. Swallowing, he breaks the silence. 

“Interesting.” 

Then he takes another spoonful of what looks like cocopuffs and continues to eat. Jeremy shakes himself out of his paralysis, more confused now than anything, and says, “What’s interesting?”

The man scans him again before responding. “You don’t have your gun out. Most people in your situation, faced with a stranger in unfamiliar surroundings, would be on the offensive. But you walked in here unhesitatingly without a weapon even though you have one on hand. That’s interesting.”

“What are you, some sort of psychologist? What the fuck?”

Giving a hard crunch to his cereal, the man grins knowingly. “And what if I am, Jeremy Dooley?”

Jeremy knows he’s supposed to reel at the knowledge that this man knows his name, knows he’s supposed to get all freaked out or whatever, but Jeremy’s always thrived on doing the unexpected. “Is that supposed to scare me? You had my wallet for hours, pal. It would be weird if you didn’t know my name.”

Surprise crosses the man’s features before he throws his head back and laughs, the sound filling Jeremy’s chest with warmth. Still smiling, eyes soft, the man looks back at him. “I think I’m going to like you. My name’s Ryan. You were in pretty bad shape yesterday, so I took you back here. I figured you probably didn’t want a hospital since you were yelling expletives at the door of the Ruffians’ hideout.”

Jeremy honestly isn’t surprised. “That was a good call. So, I guess thanks are in order?”

The man, Ryan, apparently, hops up to sit on the counter. “Ah, don’t worry about it. You can owe me one. Just, indulge my curiosity and explain what was going on yesterday?”

“Well, if you pour me a bowl of cereal, I think that can be arranged.”

The way Ryan grins in response is addictive.

(Jeremy’s screwed.)

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s not so much a decision to go out drinking that night as it is an imperative. Michael needs it, needs to get away from his gang and his anger and just forget all his problems for a little while or else he’s going to snap. So when Brad suggests heading to a bar after dinner, Michael jumps at the chance.

It’s only a few hours before the others decide to head back to base, Michael waving off their concern when he tells them he wants to stay for a while longer. Then, finally, for the first time in what feels like forever, he’s on his own.

The drinks starts flowing freely after that. Michael settles in, letting the alcohol wash over him, soothing his sorrows. The next thing he knows, there’s someone standing over him. They’re ethereal in the light, blurred gold at the edges, form almost seeming to shimmer as Michael looks up at them. 

“Can I buy you a drink, luv?”

It kind of goes downhill from there.

\---

_“So, you here for any special occasion?”_

_“Just needed to get out tonight. A break, you know?”_

_“I get it. A break sounds top right about now.”_

\---

_“Another?”_

_“I’m not going to say no to free drinks.”_

\---

_“I’m fucking...trapped, those fucking cunts just….how am I going to get out?”_

_“Sounds rough, luv. You want another?”_

\---

_“God, it’s like I’m suffocating. I’m fucking choking, and I’m fucking alone.”_

_“I’m going to die. Christ, I’m going to die.”_

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was almost too easy last night. Yeah, maybe Gavin had a few more drinks than he should have, causing him to sleep through the ideal thieving timeframe, but the mark was oblivious so he should still have a good few hours before needing to make his escape. 

Gavin looks around the apartment the mark had invited him back to. It’s decent quality, but it’s also clear the man isn’t loaded like Gavin had hoped. Ah, well. There’s still a good amount of valuable things up for grabs.

As Gavin goes around the space, picking out the nicer items to sell and the ones he likes to keep, he can feel his body relax. For all that he’s a hacker, petty theft was his original crime and it can calm him down without fail, help clear his head. Hopefully, it’ll let him think his way out of his current predicament. 

The motions of pick-up-examine-place-in-bag are actually quite repetitive, and Gavin’s mind starts to drift. Later, he will blame the late night and the alcohol and the constant stress for his complacency, but in the moment, his surroundings fade to a dull fuzz and his mind grows quiet for the first time in weeks. 

Which is, of course, the exact instant when the door to the bedroom slams open and a gun is pointed at his face. Apparently, the mark was not quite as out of it as he thought.

“And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Even in just boxers, the man has an intimidating presence. Gavin’s heart starts to race.

“I was just, uh, admiring your shot glass collection. Zelda? That’s pretty swank-”

“Yeah, it looks like you admired it so much you decided to keep it for yourself. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t blow your head off right now.”

“Look, uh,”- _name name name name, c’mon he definitely mentioned it last night_ -”Michael, this is all just a misunder-”

He’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

Immediately, Michael’s face transforms from angry to panicked. He leaps forward, grabbing Gavin by the arm and dragging him over to a door, throwing it open to reveal a closet. Shoving him inside, Michael hisses, “I’m not done with you. Stay quiet.” Then, he shuts the door in his face.

Gavin crowds up to the wood, listening intently. 

“Hey, just came by to check up on you after last night,” an unfamiliar voice says.

“Thanks, Liz, but I’m fine. Just kind of hung over, you know?” Michael’s tone is strange, a sort of forced joviality to it. 

“Alright, if you say so. But you can talk to us if you need to.”

“Really, don’t worry about it.” 

There’s an awkward silence.

“Michael...you don’t have anyone in there, do you? I thought I heard another voice earlier.”

“What! Liz, you’re fucking crazy, of course there’s no one else here!”

“It’s just, you know-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the rules-”

“I don’t want there to be a problem-”

“No problems, here, I promise-

“If you’re sure-

“I’m sure.” A pause.

“Alright. Well, I guess I’ll be on my way then. See you at the clubhouse later?”

“Of course. See you then! Thanks for checking in.”

There’s the sound of the door clicking shut. An exhalation of breath, then: “Fuck…”

Gavin’s mind is racing, not registering the footsteps coming towards him. Suddenly, the door he’s leaning on isn’t there anymore, and he lets out a squawk, falling on his face in a heap at Michael’s feet.

Gavin looks up into the other man’s face. Michael doesn’t seem angry anymore so much as tired. “Okay, give me my stuff back and get out of here. If I see you again, you’re dead.” His tone is flat, and the defeat in it leaves bad taste in the back of Gavin’s mouth. There’s something unnatural about it, that someone with so much life and fire could look so broken.

Scrambling to his feet, Gavin blurts out, “Wait! I have a...proposition for you.”

Michael sighs. “This better be good or I might just go back to my gun.”

This needs to be approached carefully. “You kept saying how you felt trapped last night at the bar. I was thinking, I’ve got a heist in the works, a fairly lucrative one. Maybe some bunce could help you get out? If you’re interested.”

“So, you, a fucking thief who was literally stealing from me moments ago, suddenly wants me in on a job? What’s in it for you?” Michael’s words are harsh, but there’s something brighter in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Gavin’s confidence in this half-baked plan skyrockets.

“I need people and you seem like you can handle yourself. You’ve got the whole scary glare, muscles, tats thing going on, you know?”

The pistol taps on his hip. “I want you to know that I still don’t trust you. But I’m willing to hear you out on this.”

“Great! Let me just get my things in order, get in contact with the necessary people, and all that. Give me your number and I’ll call you when I need you to come in, explain the whole plan, alright?” 

“Fine. Just give me my stuff back before you go.”

Gavin cannot believe that worked. It’s flipping incredible! Maybe 10 mil isn’t such a pipe dream after all, maybe he’s actually going to live to see beyond Moore’s deadline.

Now all he has to do is come up with a plan for a heist that can snag that much money, get a team together, get gear, convince Michael that he has it all under control, and not get bipped making off with most of the take. 

_Tits._ This might be a little more difficult than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have written for now, so I have no idea when the next chapter will be up. Hope you're enjoying it so far!


	3. The Usual Suspects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin makes contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a million years, I'm back. College, amiright?

It ends up being a lot more difficult than Gavin anticipated.

He can’t really...come up with a plan. Oh, there’s certainly banks and jewelry stores that have the kind of bunce he needs, but with just two of them it’s essentially an impossible task. The absolute least amount of people he can think of a feasible plan for is five or six and even that would be stretching it. 

But…he needs this money and he’s kind of afraid that Michael will end up hunting him down if he doesn’t come through. So, Gavin turns his attention to finding some other people to join them on this venture instead. This is Los Santos, meaning there are guns for hire aplenty, but it’s always a delicate dance to keep yourself (and your money) safe.

You have to know who knows who, because hiring two people with bad blood can ruin a whole operation, and hiring a spy for a rival gang can get you executed. There are those with essentially no skills that ask for a huge cut and those who ask for nothing but will turn you over to the authorities (be it the cops or the top-dog crew) without blinking, those who won’t work for anyone unknown and those who are desperate to make a name for themselves. 

After a few hours, Gavin feels just as hopeless about this as he did about planning the actual heist. He needs people who can hold their own, but the best mercenaries either have ties to crews or would laugh in his face if he couldn’t give them a solid set up when he tried to hire them. He doesn’t want to have to scrape the bottom of the barrel and deal with the newbies, because you never know how good they really are, but it looks like that might end up being his last chance.

Gavin sighs and scrolls through the list he compiled of mercenaries, looking at the biggest names as he dreams of hiring one and pulling off this job flawlessly. And then his eyes catch on a name. Gavin had immediately discarded him as out of his league the first time through, but in his research there had been some interesting rumors, talk of the town that just might end up working out in his favor.

_ Vagabond.  _ Notoriously brutal, terrifyingly capable. And now, apparently, the laughing stock of the city’s underground. If what Gavin heard is true, if the Vagabond’s actually been essentially blacklisted from the big leagues due to botching a job, then, well, a proposition like his might not be so unwelcome. It would be taking a huge risk, hiring someone with such a dark reputation, but Gavin’s never backed down from a ledge he could jump off. He’s gotten this far on sheer dumb luck and Red Bull fumes, and it probably won’t fail him now.

About half an hour later, Gavin has procured a contact number for the masked man and he takes a deep breath before punching it into his burner phone. Last chance to back out. But if he gives up now, he’s basically signing his own death warrant. There’s really no choice. The button gets pushed.

It rings once. Twice. Three times. Gavin’s heartbeat is so loud it almost drowns out the sound of someone answering.

_ “Hello?” _

_ “ _ Um...is this the Vagabond?”

_ “Who’s asking?” _

_ Alright, come on, Gavin, confidence.  _ “I’m calling to offer you a job.”

“ _ Not interested.” _ And he hangs up.

He bloody hangs up! On a surge of impulse and indignation, Gavin hits the redial button with barely a thought. 

“Listen, mate-”

_ “You again?” _

“I’m being bloody polite here-”

_ “Kid, just stop.”  _ The tone of his voice, defeated, exhausted, halts Gavin mid tirade.  _  “I know, okay? I’m very aware that I don’t have the best reputation right now. So, if you’re looking to hire me just to screw me over, I’m not biting.” _

Okay, so maybe he needs to approach this from a different angle. “You don’t even know me. Why not just give it a chance?”

_ “One chance is all it takes to end up dead. If you don’t know that by now, you’re definitely in the wrong business. I’m going to hang up now. Don’t call back.” _

Gavin’s chance at life is slipping away right before his eyes.

“Wait! One minute, just let me have my say, and I promise I’ll never contact you again!” Maybe the desperation comes through in his voice or maybe the Vagabond just wants to ensure he won’t be bothered, but Gavin doesn’t hear a dial tone, just the quiet sound of breathing, and he very nearly lets out an audible sound of relief.

“Alright. I’m going to be straight with you. I...um...well I’m kind of in a bit of jam myself, yeah? I won’t lie and say that your shoddy rep right now isn’t the reason I picked you, but it’s not ‘cause I want to let it go all tits up. That original reputation, it had to come from somewhere. And you’re probably one of the few people in this town right now that would actually give me a chance. I need the money from this job. You need the sign that you haven’t really fallen from grace. I figure, we could help each other out?”

Silence. Gavin almost loses hope again, when:

_ “I’ll meet with you. But I’m not promising anything. The warehouse on Lincoln, 6pm on Friday. Be there.” _

And the line goes dead. 

Well, what do you know? Maybe honesty is the best policy sometimes.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

As he puts down the phone, Ryan lets out a heavy breath. 

He’s such a fucking idiot. His soft spot for smartass kids is going to get him killed one day.

Speaking of smartass kids…

He sends off a quick text to the newest number saved in his phone. He might be an idiot, but he’s not going to this meet-up without some sort of backup.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Jeremy honestly wasn’t expecting to hear from Ryan again so soon. Yeah, they hit it off over breakfast, but that didn’t have to mean anything. And sure, they exchanged numbers, but Jeremy figured that was just the older man being polite. After all, Jeremy basically spilled his whole life story and all he got in return was some video game commentary and the knowledge that the other man was no stranger to the criminal lifestyle. 

Not that Jeremy didn’t want them to be friends, he just thought he would have to be the one to initiate. But the text sitting on his phone proves him wrong. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

 

**_Ry-bread_ **

_ How are your sniping skills? _

 

**_Me_ **

_ i can headshot with the best of them, buddy _

_ y _

_ u need something _

 

**_Ry-bread_ **

_ Depends. _

_ Are you free at 6 on Friday? _

 

**_Me_ **

_ let me just check my social calendar _

_ looks like i’ll be able to squeeze u in between the absolute nothing i have going on _

 

**_Ry-bread_ **

_ I just need some back-up and I thought I’d call in that favor. _

_ Someone offered a job, but I don’t know if it’s legit yet. _

_ Would you be willing to watch my back? _

 

Jeremy feels the hot flush of pleasure flash through his body as he reads that one. That’s some trust for someone he just met. He must have made a better impression than he thought.

 

**_Me_ **

_ it would be my absolute pleasure, pal _

 

**_Ry-bread_ **

_ Great. _

_ After this, we’re even.  _

_ Meet me at the warehouse on Lincoln at around 5:30. _

 

**_Me_ **

_ sounds good, see u then _

 

**_Me_ **

_ r u busy now (unsent) _

 

Jeremy hesitates over send button. Maybe it’ll come off as pushy. But...he doesn’t want the conversation to end having only talked about work.

 

**_Me_ **

_ r u busy now _

 

**_Ry-bread_ **

_ No, why? _

 

**_Me_ **

_ u ever played pubg _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this chapter kind of feels unfinished, but I also like that it implies what happens after rather than states it. I'll see if it bothers me enough to change it. Thanks for reading!


	4. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations abound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've learned I'm horrible at updating. But I have two chapters for you, so enjoy!

If there’s one thing that Michael is sure of, it’s that Gavin is a goddamn idiot. It really didn’t take long to figure out. A few days after the attempted robbery, the British man called him all excited about making some contact and setting up a meeting. 

Michael, well, he can read between the lines.

_“...And we’re meeting on Friday! It’ll be top, Michael! We’ll be ready to heist before you know it!”_

Michael sighs.

“You’re a moron, you know that?”

_“W-Wot?!”_

“Gavin, let me get this straight. You contacted the Vagabond, one of the most dangerous people in the city because those connections you implied you had? Yeah, those don’t exist. And now you’re planning on meeting with said dangerous person alone. How could I think anything besides you being a fucking moron?”

_“Well, I-”_

Michael gives into the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache building.

“Just shut the fuck up. Let me make myself incredibly clear. I need this job even if you’re not capable of setting it up. So, I’m going to go with you on Friday, in an attempt to avoid you getting killed. But if you pull some shit like that again, trying to make me think that you know what you’re doing when you don’t, I’m walking. You keep me updated on everything, got it?”

_“I-yeah, yeah. I’ll do that, I swear.”_

“Alright.” Michael allows himself a small smile. “Now, tell me about the plan for Friday.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

All Ryan gave him was a place and a time. Which leaves the outfit and supplies up to Jeremy. It’s a sniping job, which means he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself (unfortunately). It also means he’ll probably be in some high position (even more unfortunately). 

Here’s the thing. Jeremy didn’t really lie. He is a decent enough sniper and he has completed plenty of mercenary jobs in that role. It’s just...he much prefers to be up in people’s faces, either loud or quiet. Close and personal, stabbing in the back or punching in the face, appeals to him far more than the distance sniping provides. Also, he’s usually stuck some distance above the ground which...isn’t great.

But he doesn’t want to disappoint Ryan. Not after all the bonding they did, not after hearing him breathless with laughter, not after promising to get a chicken dinner together one day in PUBG (they got second after Jeremy shot Ryan behind a rock.) So, sniping it is, at least for now.

Dark clothes, then, but he grabs a dusty cowboy hat (he bought it one time while really drunk and then didn’t know what to do with it after) from his closet on a whim to make it a little more fun. 

Behind the hat, under a pile of clothes, lays a slim black box. Jeremy pulls it out. His sniper rifle isn’t the best model, but it does the job. It’s one of the first things he splurged on after getting into town. For all he’s not a fan, snipers are always in high demand, so it seemed like a good investment at the time and it hasn’t failed him yet. 

A quick clean and check, and the rifle is once again disassembled and ready for transport. His crappy iPod and a pair of headphones go in one pocket, his burner phone and a pair of black leather gloves in the other. On the way out the door, he grabs a pair of sunglasses that he’ll have to take off once he’s in position, but he likes the way they look, so fuck it.

It’s about a half hour walk. Jeremy steps outside.

Once more unto the breach.

——————————————————————————————————————

Ryan arrives at the warehouse at five. He scans the area, makes note of good vantage points and possible exit strategies. He also checks for any evidence of prior tampering from the guy on the phone, but as he suspected, there’s nothing, which either means said guy is smart or exceptionally dumb. Jury’s still out on that one. 

Ryan’s just counting out the distance between the back door and the center of the room when a voice calls out.

“You know, when you said you’ve ‘dabbled’ in crime, I didn’t think you meant you were one of the most notorious mercenaries in the city.”

Ryan smiles without turning around. “Surprised?”

“I should be, but I’m really not.” Ryan glances over his shoulder in time to catch the other man’s grin, “The whole overly dramatic, I am death thing seems right up your alley. Plus,” he leers, “I’ve always pegged you as a kinky fuck.”

Ryan can’t help but snort as he turns around fully. “Glad to know I gave off the right impression. Hello, Jeremy. It’s good to see you again.”

The other man rocks back on his heels, tipping up a ludicrous cowboy hat in greeting. “Hey, Ryan. I’m digging the makeup, by the way, it’s fucking...creepy.”

Ryan lifts a hand to touch gently at his face paint. He’s never once regretted hiding his face, but in front of this man who’s seen him eating cereal and yelling at video games, it suddenly seems exceptionally out-of-place. In an attempt to hide the flush of self consciousness, Ryan quickly turns to fumble through his backpack.

“Okay, let’s get down to business. I’ve got comms here, but also take a walky-talky just in case they fail for some reason.” He hands over the tech, and Jeremy clips the walky-talky on his belt. Both of them take a moment to situate the comm in an ear, and Ryan sees the shorter man wince at the sharp buzz before it settles into place. “So…” Ryan points up to the upper area of the warehouse where there are loft-like platforms on either end of the large space. “I’m thinking that you’ll be stationed up there. Just stay in the shadows and I doubt you’ll be noticed.”

Jeremy examines the platform for a moment. “You realize, pal, that that’s pretty much the most obvious sniper post in the area?”

“Well, unless you can get up into the rafters, that’s what we’re stuck with.”

“Hmmm…” Ryan watches Jeremy pace across the area, looking up into the dim areas of the ceiling. “There, look, next to the platform, there’s a ledge almost completely hidden by darkness. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll set up there.”

“Have at it.” Ryan steps out of the other man’s way with a slight bow.

As Jeremy climbs up the ladder and makes his way to the spot he specified, Ryan puts on his mask, then checks all the weapons he brought with him. A knife goes in his boot, his pistol inside his jacket, some throwing knives are attached to his belt. Nothing too large or obnoxious, only things for emergencies. Also, the kind of things he’d be willing to give up if the Brit from the phone insists on a weaponless meeting. After all, that’s what Jeremy’s there for.

After about five minutes, the comm in his ear buzzes and Jeremy’s voice comes through, sounding a little breathless. _“All set. How do I look?”_

Ryan glances up to his post and can just make out his form in the shadows. If you didn’t know he was there, he’d be nearly impossible to spot. “You’re a regular Sam Fisher.” 

_“That’s what I like to hear.”_

The two of them fall into a companionable silence, Ryan slowly stalking across the floor in anticipation. It’s almost time. There’s a strange thrumming in his ear, and Ryan shakes his head a bit, trying to jiggle the comm into compliance. It doesn’t go away however, and wait a second-

“Are you listening to _music_ right now?”

_“Distracts me from the height-”_

“WHAT-”

_“Heads up, pal, we’ve got company.”_

Shaking off his incredulity for the moment, Ryan returns his attention to the entrance, where, sure enough, two figures have appeared in the doorway. This should be fun.


	5. This Town Ain't Big Enough...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting

When Michael first started working with a gang, he knew he was on the lowest rung of the ladder. For all that the Haymakers talk about family and bonding, they still keep a strict hierarchical structure, and he knows that any time he goes out on a job for them that he’s ultimately expendable.

Working with Gavin is nothing like that. 

After their conversation on the phone, the Brit makes it a point to keep him in on the plan. They meet the very next day, Michael sneaking out of the base on the pretext of getting lunch, and there’s something incredibly freeing about actually being listened to, rather than just being told what to do. Michael’s always chafed under authority, and the experience of being an equal partner in something just makes him more desperate to get away from the Haymakers altogether.

Another thing that Michael realizes is that despite his first impression, Gavin is incredibly smart. It’s hidden by his fake British words and weird phrasings, but Michael can tell just from sitting and brainstorming with him for about an hour that this is actually a man who knows what he’s talking about. Michael himself is a dumb fuck, so he ultimately can’t contribute much to the discussion, but he has the option to, which is more than what he’s had with anyone else.

None of that stops him from mercilessly teasing Gavin at any opportunity, however.

Over the course of the week, as the Friday meeting draws near, Michael finds himself almost liking the other man, despite the horrific circumstances of their first meeting. He certainly doesn’t trust him, but he finds himself smiling at the other’s squawks and other strange noises all the same, and thinks that maybe one day he will.

By the time Friday rolls around, Michael thinks that there might actually be chance, however small, that this won’t end up with both of them dead in a ditch. He tells Gavin as much on their way to the warehouse and gets a baleful look in return.

“You could be a little more positive, Michael.”

“Look, I’m just calling it as I see it, and what I see are two dumb fucks in way over their heads.”

“The Vagabond’s just a bloke, yeah? Not so scary, really.”

“That’s not what you were saying the other day when you wanted me to call him to confirm the details of the meeting because _‘his voice is intimidating, Mi-coo’_.”

“Well...shut up. Everything is going to go fine.”

And despite all of his complaining, Michael almost believes him.

Stepping into the warehouse, it’s easy to fall back into the role of muscle, the silent threat at the shoulder of the person in charge. The lighting is like all warehouse lighting, at once both too high and too low, creating odd shadows among the cheap, flickering fluorescent glow. It’s mostly empty, but there are some crates piled to the sides, abandoned and dusty, this place long since condemned, left empty for years and unclaimed by the criminals of the city, a hub of meetings, with only the blood-stained ground left as evidence of past deals gone wrong. No one quite knows who pays for the electricity, but it remains on all the same, the ghost of a time when it was used for less illegal dealings.

Michael’s never been here before, as the Haymakers prefer to meet on their home turf in order to create ambushes, but he can see why so many freelance mercenaries use it as a space to get work, the drafty chill and creaky atmosphere suitably intimidating. And there, standing in the middle of the space, mask coated in shadow, is the Vagabond. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gavin’s aware he’s putting on a front for Michael, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop. He likes Michael, is the thing, the other man so incredibly honest and straightforward which is incredibly refreshing, despite whatever Michael doesn’t want to talk about regarding that woman at his apartment door. So, despite himself, some of Gavin’s real personality does slip through, bits and pieces that he can’t help but give up. 

But he still puts on his front of confidence, his front of competent incompetence, and let’s Michael draw his own conclusions. It’s his escape route if things go wrong, it’s his long term play to get the money he needs to stay alive. If Michael underestimates him, if he never sees the real Gavin, he can get away with the whole stash and cut ties much easier. It’s a con he’s pulled on a lot of people, and it hasn’t failed him yet.

It’s strange then, that Gavin has felt like blurting out everything when Michael laughs, sharp and bright and the stress that always stains his face washed away. It’s odd that he’s felt the truth dangling at the tip of the tongue, just barely swallowing it down in the face of Michael’s reluctant fondness, the teasing words that never quite reach his mirth filled eyes.

It’s there again, as Michael gently ribs him on the way to the meet-up, like a stone stuck in his throat, guilt or something like it making his usually smooth tongue heavy and clumsy in his mouth. But there’s no room for that now, so Gavin pushes it all down, taking one last glance at Michael before walking into the warehouse with any nerves disguised beneath a confident walk.

Gavin’s never hired someone before, he’s only been hired, and he can’t imagine a more terrifying place to attempt it for the first time. It’s like a horror movie, and Gavin’s feet almost stick to the floor at the sight of the Vagabond, silent and menacing in the quiet. But he feels Michael’s warmth at his shoulder and pushes forward, coming to a stop in the pool of light that the mercenary is standing on the edge of.

“Vagabond.”

The skull tilts in response. “Mr. Zoloto, I presume.”

This whole situation is too surreal, too cinematic, with the fake names and the stage lighting and the warehouse scene. Gavin feels the giddy urge to laugh bubble up in his chest. 

The Vagabond turns his head to Michael. “You brought a friend, I see. Seems you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Nothing more than a precaution, I assure you.” Gavin spreads his arms, keeping his snickers contained and trying his best to channel a James Bond villain. “I have no weapon on me, but I can almost guarantee that you do. You can’t fault me for being prepared.”

The skull tilts the other way, quiet for a moment. “Fair enough, let’s proceed. You need me for a job, you said?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for someone to help. It’s going to have a big take, somewhere in the range of 10 grand each.” Part of the plan, make the amount seem something reasonable, rather than extreme like it really was. A bit of a risk, to lie to the mercenary’s face, but it seemed like a safe enough idea to raise the take after he agreed. After all, who would say no to more money?

“How long of a job with how many people?”

“I’m thinking four people, and it should only take a couple of weeks if we play our cards right. Now, look, like I told you on the phone, I’m in kind of a bind myself. So, I’m going to be honest. Including me and my cohort here, your addition to the team would bring us up to three people. I’ll look for a fourth, but I’m also willing to hear any recommendations that you might have, seeing as you’ve heard me out this far.”

The other man is quiet for a moment, the skeletal features of the mask unchanging. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t even consider this if it weren’t for my present situation. But I’m actually going to say yes, God help me. I guess desperation makes fools of us all. As for a fourth…” he tilts his head again, “You in?”

“Am I...what?” Gavin tips his own head in confusion, and it all clicks right as the shot rings out. Gavin ducks automatically, Michael rushing forward in his peripheral, gun already drawn.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Michael yells, moving to aim at the Vagabond’s head.

Then a new voice calls out, echoing in the space, “Oh man, you don’t want to do that. I was just saying hi.” And rising into view from the shadows of the rafters, the silhouette of a person in a cowboy hat appears with a rifle in his arms.

Michael freezes, possibly from the shock of a new person, possibly due to the appearance of a pistol in the Vagabond’s hand. They’re outnumbered and outgunned and out of luck. Gavin feels like an absolute mong. The head tilting, the dumb head tilting was the clue; it wasn’t just the prick Vagabond trying to be creepy, it was him listening, he was on comms the whole bloody time!

Gavin can’t believe that after everything, Michael was right. They’re going to die here, all because Gavin was too cocky for his own good. They really are just two idiots in over their heads.

The Vagabond’s aim remains steady as he regards the two of them, Michael almost shaking with repressed rage and white knuckling his gun, Gavin hunched defensively behind him. Then, he gestures with his left arm to the man in the rafters. “As requested,” he says serenely, “a fourth.”

The other man salutes, lowering the sniper slightly. “You can call me Rimmy Tim! A pleasure to make your acquaintance, really.”

Slowly, Gavin unfolds himself to stand straight again. He lets out a shaky breath, the adrenaline from thinking he was going to die still running rampant through his system. “That was...dramatic.”

The Vagabond turns his mask in his direction. “Well, Mr. Zoloto, if your friend here promises not to shoot me if I lower my gun, I think we can come to an arrangement.”

Gavin gently touches Michael’s tense shoulder. “Michael…” It tenses even more under his hand before abruptly relaxing, the gun dropping to his side.

“Alright, Vagabond,” Michael spits, “We’re on a team now, I guess. But don’t even think about trying something like that again.” 

And after everything, after burner numbers are exchanged and a time to plan the heist is arranged, as he and Michael head towards the door, Gavin looks back across the warehouse at the man in the mask and the one in the hat, and can’t help but think that maybe he’s just made allies that are more dangerous to him than his enemies.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“ _Rimmy Tim_ , really?”

“Shut up, _Vagabond_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hopefully I'll get more out soon-ish.


	6. If You're Not Out of Control...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle Buddies bond. Also, time for a good, old fashioned shopping montage.

“So I was thinking…” 

Ryan starts a little at the voice, coming out of about fifteen minutes of amiable quiet only interrupted by call-outs. They had started the evening by having a nice conversation, one that petered out naturally to be replaced by focusing on gameplay. And Ryan had been enjoying it. It’s been a long time since he’s had someone with whom silence can be companionable.

The jolt causes his character to spin for a second at the worst moment, and bullets come straight from the window he was next to, hitting his guy in the head and killing him instantly. Ryan swears under his breath, switching to spectate Jeremy’s screen, the other man sneaking about away from the objectives. “...You were thinking?” he prompts. “Ash is out the window at A, by the way. She got me.”

“Thanks.” He starts moving in that direction. As he peaks around a corner, the death message of Ash popping up in the corner as their teammate kills her, Jeremy continues, “I was thinking… We’re going to be pulling a whole heist together with people we don’t trust. But we’ve actually never worked together before? So, maybe we, you know, should?”

Ryan puts on an exaggerated Southern accent, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Why Mister Dooley, are you asking me to go steady?”

Jeremy laughs. “Ryan, I am asking you to go with me to a gas station and rob them blind. We’ll see how it goes from there.” On the screen in front of him, Ryan watches as Jeremy executes Buck from behind with brutal efficiency as he pulls out one of his goo mines, ending the final round of the match.

There’s quiet for a moment as they both type their ggs into the chat. Cav’s facepaint stares at him in a mockery of his own as it zooms in on her as the MVP. “But all joking aside, that actually sounds like an amazing idea, Jeremy.” He thinks about his one kill on the scoreboard, his gamertag at the bottom of the list. “I was getting tired of getting my ass kicked anyway.”

“Yeah, I hate that I suck at this game...Wait, you want to go tonight?” 

“Oh, shut up, Mr. MVP,” Ryan grumbles, disregarding Jeremy’s poor performance in the previous match. “And yeah, we’re meeting with the idiots in two days, so tonight seems like as good a time as any.”

“Well...then want to meet at the LTD on Bridge Street in like half an hour?”

“Ooooorrrrr… I don’t really want to wear my Vagabond get up, and I could just pull something out of my closet, but we could also you know, go shopping?”

“Ryan. You are completely speaking my language right now. I’m always down to dress up. But also, I’m kind of short on cash right now…”

“By shopping, I of course meant shopping lifting.”

“Then let’s fucking do it. Suburban in like half an hour?”

“See you then!” And as they both log off Discord, Ryan getting up to pull on some plain dark clothes, he can’t help but smile. The best part of letting someone in after so long of being a lone wolf is that things are actually fun again. Crime, which for so long has simply been a job, actually seems like something he can enjoy. He forgot how...nice it is to be able to talk to someone who knows his name and face and isn’t scared of him. It’s nice to have someone he can text about video games, someone he can talk to about more than just murder and money. It feels amazing, after the disastrous past month, to be able to be silly, to flub and have no consequences other than friendly teasing. It’s freeing to be a person rather than just a mask.

So he doesn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but Ryan, who spent so long as nothing more than a silent menace in the eyes of others, finds that Jeremy has already started gaining his trust simply by treating him like a friend.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It doesn’t take long for Jeremy to find a ridiculous outfit. While Ryan goes off into the depths of the coats, Jeremy locates the brightest yellow pants he’s ever seen and an equally fluorescent green shirt. A pair of tacky rainbow crocs and a putridly pink plaid bandana complete the look. He’s like some sort of neon nightmare, and it’s amazing.

While admiring the pure horror of it in the mirror, a hand taps at his shoulder. Jeremy turns to see Ryan, who’s found a coat that PETA would have a field day with, a mess of furs and feathers haphazardly stitched together in no discernible pattern. And below that he’s wearing fucking leopard print pants creating the overall effect of some deranged hunter. Jeremy can’t help but laugh.

“That’s fucking wicked! We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

Ryan giggles, too, looking him up and down, and dramatically putting his hand up to shade his eyes. “I think I’ve gone blind, Jeremy! My retinas can’t handle it.” 

“Ooooo, maybe we can get you a pair of sunglasses. And something to cover your face, too? ...Wait here just one second, I think I saw the perfect thing earlier.”

And it’s wild. It’s absolutely batshit, totally crazy and surreal that Jeremy gets to do this. Literally the whole town is terrified of this man, this man who could kill him without a second thought, but instead laughs like a child when Jeremy wraps a feather boa around his neck with a flourish, eyes shining. Jeremy isn’t scared of him, can’t be scared of him, and he knows that’s dangerous considering he’s the fucking Vagabond, but god dammit, Ryan makes actual anime jokes when they play video games and he references Star Trek and he snorts at Jeremy’s dumb puns and he flubs more words the more excited he gets and they’re going to rob a gas station together looking like the world’s stupidest thrift store superhero duo. 

How is he supposed to be scared of someone like that?

Outfits settled, it’s easy enough to slip out of the store without paying. And by that Jeremy means they try to be sneaky and forget about the alarms on the clothing tags, forcing them to run out and escape on Ryan’s bike.

The gas station doesn’t stand a chance, really. Ryan goes in first, gun drawn, Jeremy following behind to watch their exit. It’s going well, Ryan gathering the money and Jeremy keeping an eye on the door and the one patron who was unlucky enough to be caught inside, when Jeremy catches movement in his peripheral, the clerk subtly reaching down below the desk. Immediately, Jeremy raises his pistol.

**Bang-Bang!**

Two shots go off almost simultaneously, the clerk stumbling back as one clocks his shoulder and the other grazes his arm near the elbow. Jeremy looks to his right and sees Ryan’s gun also smoking, the other man’s eyes meeting Jeremy’s as they both register how in sync they just were. Unfortunately, it seems they weren’t quite fast enough, Jeremy already catching the faint sound of police sirens. Either the clerk succeeded in hitting the panic button or someone from outside the store tipped the cops off, but it doesn’t matter now.

Ryan immediately springs into action, grabbing the rest of the cash from the register while Jeremy switches from watching the patron to watching the door, waiting for the signature red and blue flash. Behind the counter, the clerk is moaning dramatically, and Jeremy smirks to himself when he hears the “God, shut the fuck up, you were barely shot,” from his partner in crime. 

And there’s the cops. “We’re out of time, pal, we gotta go now.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Ryan quickly closes the backpack, tossing it Jeremy’s way without warning and he fumbles in catching it, throwing a glare the other man’s way as Ryan pulls out his keys.

They vacate the store, Jeremy sending a few bullets into the ceiling just for fun on the way out, and make their way back to Ryan’s bike, the cops now just visible barreling down the street. Jeremy settles the backpack securely on his shoulders, just barely getting a grip on Ryan’s waist as they peel out of the parking lot. The wail of the sirens gets blurred in the rush of wind as they race their way down the street and deeper into downtown, but when Jeremy risks a glance back, the police are still right on their tail.

A few bullets ping off the street near them, and Jeremy leans his face forward to speak into Ryan’s ear over the roaring sound. “So, what’s the plan? Need me to pop a few tires?”

“You ever used grenades?”

_No._ “Of course.”

“My right jacket pocket.”

Jeremy reaches forward, and almost falls off the bike as Ryan makes a sharp swerve into oncoming traffic to avoid a slow moving car in front of them, stabilizing just enough by gripping with his knees to find the pocket and obtain said explosive. Leaning into the other man’s back to remain steady, Jeremy examines the object. 

It’s compact, surprisingly heavy, and looks almost exactly like they do on TV. It can’t be that hard to use, right? Just pull the pin and throw, seems pretty basic. Holding tight to Ryan with one arm, Jeremy raises the device to his mouth to pull the pin. “Ouch! Fucking shit!” That’s...not as easy as it looks on TV. It fucking hurts to try and pull it out with his teeth.  
“Everything alright back there?”

“Just peachy.”

“Need some help?”

“You concentrate on the driving, I’ll concentrate on the explosions.”

_Okay, let’s try this again._ Jeremy waits until Ryan is on a relatively steady stretch before locking his knees in place and releasing his death grip on the other man’s jacket to actually properly pull the pin this time. It’s easy enough to do with two hands, and Jeremy quickly twists in place before blindly tossing the grenade behind them. 

A few second pass, and for a moment Jeremy starts to worry that he really fucked it up when **boom!** From behind them comes a rush of heat, and Jeremy watches over his shoulder as one of the cop cars goes up in flames, the shrapnel having hit the gas tank at just the right angle to induce an explosion.

It’s fucking beautiful, and Jeremy can’t help but laugh in the face of the chaos, adrenaline running hot through his body and leaving him breathless. Crime has never felt like this before, and it’s an addicting kind of high.

Ryan takes advantage of the confusion to make a sharp turn down an alley, losing the cops with ease as they scramble to regroup in the wake of the explosion. They follow a twisting path through the city, staying off the main streets before Ryan finally comes to a stop in front of a familiar apartment building. 

Jeremy carefully steps off the bike, his legs wobbly and fingertips still tingling. He shrugs off the backpack and offers it to Ryan.

The other man looks him up and down. “Keep it. This job was your idea anyway.”

Jeremy hugs the bag to his chest, desperate for the cash, but distrustful and resentful of charity. “If you’re sure. I don’t want to take away your cut.”

“I’m sure.”

“Hmph. I’ll owe you one again then.” And he slings the bag back over his shoulder. Ryan looks kind of exasperated at that answer.

“Really, don’t feel obligated...Ah, whatever. If that makes you feel better, I guess it’s fine.”

“Of course it’s fine. It’s only right.”

Ryan sighs in response, but lets the subject drop. “Think you can make your way home from here without attracting attention in that outfit?”

“I am a master of stealth, Ryan, don’t even worry about it.”

They part ways with a promise to talk the next day, and if Jeremy ends up having to punch out a mugger and lose the cops again by ducking into a store on the way back, well, Ryan never has to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan is a nerd in every AU and you can't convince me otherwise.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
